


Dancing Stars

by WinterCricket



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterCricket/pseuds/WinterCricket
Summary: My first fic! Heaven knows I've been lurking around AO3 for too long without actually posting anything, and I was inspired to write today, so here goes!Standard coffee shop AU with an artsy twist - no idea where this will end up, if anywhere, but here goes!





	1. An Alternative Remedy

Feyre was miserable. The sudden snap of cold weather seemed to have seized hold of her entire body, leaving her shivering and numb-fingered, and cursed with a never-ending cold. She spent her days curled up in blanket burritos, consuming inordinate cups of tea and generally feeling miserable, and Tamlin did little to help her, belittling her for being ill and complaining when she wouldn’t put out. Feyre didn’t have the heart to say that it wasn’t just being sick that made the thought of sleeping with him turn her stomach.

Left alone in the flat for the fourth day in a row, she had been seized by a sudden determination to do something. Anything, really. So, shrugging on every item of knitwear she owned and bundling up in her thickest coat and hat, she had braved the brisk morning weather and marched resolutely in the vague direction of Prythian’s centre.

Minutes later she was regretting her decision, her nose streaming and her throat raw in with cold, but she was nothing if not stubborn, and pressed on, determined to reach her goal: Nightingale’s, the tiny art store squirrelled away down backstreets and hidden to all but those who knew the city best. She had loved to visit once as a girl, and the years where she had been unable to afford anything the shop stocked had only intensified the joy she felt every time she stepped through the heavy wooden door, the bell tinkling familiarly above her head. She needed nothing from the store itself - Cauldron knows that Tamlin had bought her every possible art material under the sun and then some - but she had an intense desire to just sit in the store and bask. The tiny coffee shop nestled in the art bookstore upstairs gave her just the excuse she needed.

Feyre’s breath fogged in front of her face as she wove her way through familiar streets, ignoring those around her just as much as they ignored her, more focused on not slipping on the path beneath her feet, which was scattered with patches of black ice. She grinned beneath the scarf bundled around her face when she saw the red flaking paintwork around her favourite Prythian establishment, and her steps increased without her having to think about. Pausing by the door, she breathed a small sigh of relief; she had managed to get the whole way without Tamlin’s help, despite his insistence that she wouldn’t be able to do anything while she was ill. It was a sad thing to celebrate, but then again, Feyre’s life had recently been ruled by the small celebrations that erupted in her heart every time she proved her boyfriend wrong.

She noticed that the vacancy poster that had been hung in the window was now gone, and a vague sadness twinged in the back of her mind; she had intended to apply, just to have something, anything to do instead of sitting around at Tamlin’s all day, but he had caught her mid-application, and it was far easier to simply agree with him than face the daily arguments and disagreements that would have ensued if she had got the job. She winced internally as she realised how long ago that had been, and just how much time had passed since she had last been in Nightingale’s. Too long.

The blast of warm air from inside the shop dispelled all unhappy thoughts from her mind, and she couldn’t help but beam to herself at the familiar sight of paints, palettes and pencils that covered almost every inch of available space inside the shop. Her shoulders relaxed, finally relieved of a tension she hadn’t realised she’d been carrying. Huffing a happy sigh, she sucked in a lungful of the coffee-and-old-books smell that made Nightingale’s feel like home. She hated drinking coffee, but the smell of it instantly warmed her insides and lifted her mood, despite her throbbing headache. Years ago she had associated that smell with her father’s library, but she hadn’t been in there in years; the library hadn’t existed in years. Not since--

No. She wouldn’t go down that path. Not today.

“Looking for anything in particular?” A deep purr of a voice asked, and Feyre jerked back to reality as she realised there was someone stood in front of her. She stepped back on instinct, her cheeks warming considerably as she looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Her artistic muse twitched where it had been slumbering for too long, and she was instantly itching to paint them. It was only when the brow above one of the eyes in question flicked upwards in silent question that she realised that the owner of the voice was waiting for her answer.

She blinked, jerking herself out of her admiration, only to be once again lost for words. In front of her stood the most beautiful man in the world, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he tried to suppress a smirk, his otherworldly blue eyes dancing in amusement.


	2. A Feel-Better Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two!! Apologies for any spelling mistakes, I wanted to get this uploaded as soon as I got it finished c:
> 
> EDIT 14/02/18: Changed up the ending a bit since I wasn't entirely happy with where I left it, but it's done now! Next bit should be up soon :)

“Looking for anything in particular?”

The question hung between them expectantly, and it took Feyre another moment before she mentally slapped herself out of her reverie, suddenly looking anywhere but at the man before her. Her gaze froze on a display of erasers, of all things, and she nodded at them before she could formulate a better response to his question. “Erasers,” she blurted out, the lie plain as daylight, and the man’s smirk only grew broader, his eyes glittering as he stepped back, clearing her path to the display. With cheeks flushed red from more than the cold weather outside, Feyre pushed past him, cursing every decision and action that had led to this shambles of an interaction. Thankfully, the shop attendant didn’t pursue her any further, and sloped back towards the counter, hands sliding into his pockets like he was out for a pleasant stroll in the park.

Once she had spent enough time examining the different erasers to convince herself that her lie was believable (it wasn’t), Feyre drifted to the other stands, and quickly lost herself in the world of colours and shapes that she so easily fit into. She had forgotten just how much she loved this shop, how much she loved art. A twinge of sadness plucked at her heart as she thought of the art materials lying unused and unloved in her closet back at the house, and she made a mental promise to herself that she would paint something the next chance she had. Maybe she’d try to capture a certain pair of violet eyes…

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

She jumped again as the velvet voice pulled her back to reality with a thud, and she was suddenly back in the art shop, staring in fascination at a rack of paintbrushes set just in front of the cash register. The man was sat behind it, watching her with those damn eyes, that familiar smirk once again playing on his lips.

Yes - you, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered, though Feyre immediately smothered it before it could go any further. By the Cauldron, she had a boyfriend. She balked internally at the thought of what Tamlin might do if he knew what was going through her mind.

“Yes, thank-you,” she said eventually, dropping the eraser she had chosen onto the counter. She pulled her purse out of her bag, opening it to reveal the shiny plastic card that Tamlin had given her, linked to his account. It caught the light, almost seeming to laugh at her, as though it knew that she was being flirted with by a complete stranger. Feyre chewed her lip nervously, glancing out of the shop window, half-expecting her boyfriend to be stood outside, watching her.

When she turned back to the counter, a steaming takeout cup from the cafe upstairs had appeared, the eraser balanced neatly on its lid. Feyre frowned at it, looking between the cup and the man now smirking at her.

“Tea,” he said simply, a kind smile blossoming across his face. “Ginger and peppermint, for your cold.” When Feyre started to object, for some reason ready to insist that she was completely healthy, despite her bright red nose and dark eye-circles, he chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Darling, you’ve sniffed more times in the last five minutes than I have in the past month, and that scarf isn’t muffling your cough, no matter how much you try to hide it.”

Mortification flooded her, and she wished more than anything that the ground would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole. She tried to formulate a sensible response to his gesture, but her cheeks simply flushed beet-red, making him smile even more. Grumbling into her scarf, she glared at him, though it didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

“How much do I owe you, then?” She said eventually, fumbling in her purse for whatever loose change was rattling about in there.

The man only held his hands up to her, shaking his head softly. “No charge.” He smiled at her again, and Feyre had to will herself to stay focused again. “It’s hardly worth it anyway, that eraser is pretty much the cheapest thing you could’ve picked.” He chuckled, though the smile vanished when Feyre only responded with a tight smile. Only a year ago she would’ve had to scrape together spare change just to afford the eraser, and now she could buy anything in the shop without concern. Not now that she was with Tamlin. She knew she should be grateful for his generosity, but it only left her feeling unclean, tainted. She shuddered.

Thankfully, the man seemed to mistake it for a shiver, and only pushed the cup further towards her. Realising he wasn’t going to let her leave without it, Feyre reluctantly picked it up, dropping the eraser into her bag and cradling the cup between her gloved fingers. She took a sip, and sighed as the warm liquid trickled down her throat and warmed her from the inside out. “Thank-you,” she said quietly, smiling gratefully at the man, who was watching her with what could only be described as relief, though he quickly hid it.

“Don’t mention it, darling,” he said, smile broadening. Feyre turned to leave, but the man stood and moved around the counter to follow her to the door, hands back in his pockets again. He opened the door for her, allowing a sudden blast of frigid air in. Feyre shuddered against it, holding the tea closer to her and trying not to think about the miserable walk home she had ahead of her.

“Stay warm,” he said quietly to her, and she looked up to find him alarmingly close to her, those entrancing blue eyes holding her gaze. Feyre had to stop herself reaching up to brush the stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes, and instead stepped out into the cold, pulling her hood up over her head. She glanced back at him one last time, to find him still watching her, that strange look of kind concern on his face. Feyre gave him a small smile, raising a hand in farewell, and he returned it, giving her a smile so dazzling that she swore it lit up her way home.

It wasn’t until she got back to the house, her tea finished, and she was digging around in her bag for her housekeys that she realised something was missing. Her purse. She panicked for a moment, wondering if she had somehow been pick-pocketed on her way home, but dismissed the fear immediately; she’d hardly passed anyone, and hadn’t walked close enough to give anyone the opportunity. She cursed loudly as he realised exactly where her purse was.

It was on the counter in Nightingale’s, right where she had left it.


	3. A Waste of Good Tea

The next morning, Feyre had waited only a few minutes after Tamlin had left for work before leaving the house herself, anxious to retrieve her purse as soon as possible. Tamlin had had no reason to find out she had lost it the previous evening - why would he care about what was in her purse, when his own wallet had all the money they needed? - but she didn’t want to chance it; he was only going to Hybern, the next city over, and would be back within a couple of hours.

The tea she’d been given the previous afternoon seemed to have done the trick on her cold, and she had woken up feeling better than she had in weeks. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was just from the tea, but wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, bundled up against the brilliantly frosty morning, Feyre walked back towards Nightingale’s, her thoughts once again drifting to a certain pair of blue eyes she might see once she got there.

If the previous day’s weather had been treacherous, this morning it was downright lethal. More ice had formed overnight, and barely anywhere outside the city centre had escaped being encased in ice. The street Nightingale’s stood on, hidden away as it was, stood little chance of being cleared, and it was for that reason that Feyre was using every ounce of concentration she had trying to avoid slipping and falling onto the concrete. Every step was measured, and she kept one hand on the wall next to her, prepared to grab it if her feet went out from under her.

“Do you want a hand?”

Feyre flinched away from the source of the voice - and the wall - in surprise before she could catch herself, and immediately slipped, feet shooting out from under her. She braced herself for a painful introduction to the cold concrete below her, before two hands caught her beneath her shoulders, something smashing to the floor next to them. The hands gently helped her upright again, hovering as though ensuring she wasn’t about to fall again, before moving away again. Turning to thank her surprise rescuer, Feyre was met by a familiar pair of eyes filled with concern.

“I’m so sorry,” he said hurriedly, searching her face for any sign of injury or pain. “Are you alright?” His hands hovered between them, as though unsure whether to touch her or not.

Feyre blinked, trying to ignore the heat rising above her scarf. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, glancing away and down to the floor, where the remains of a mug lay in shards, the drink it once held already melting away the ice. “I’m the one who should be sorry… your mug…”

“It’s nothing that can’t easily be replaced,” he said smoothly, offering her another of his dazzling smiles, though this one seemed fuelled by relief more than anything else. The grin turned predatory, though. “You, however, are one of a kind.”

The blush creeping up her cheeks only intensified, and she turned her attention to the fragments of ceramic littering the path around them instead of looking up at him.

“I’ll grab a broom to clean it up,” he said to her, though made no move to leave her side, only glancing at the shop, just visible from where they were stood before turning back to her again. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Feyre lifted her gaze to his, and was bowled over by the intensity of the worry and concern on his face. She found herself smiling up at him; “I’m fine.” He relaxed, beaming back at her before offering her his arm, nodding towards the shop.

Feyre only raised an eyebrow, sidestepping his offered arm and marching on ahead, stepping with far more confidence than she really should have given the conditions. Behind her, the man barked a laugh and followed after her, hovering close enough to catch her if she fell (again). She made it to the shop without incident, though, and stepped into the shop with a triumphant grin on her face, only to be immediately enveloped in a gigantic bear hug.

“Alis!” Feyre managed to squeak out through the hug, which was threatening to crack her ribs if she hugged any tighter.

“Feyre!” The small woman - the owner of Nightingale’s - cried, finally releasing her and beaming up at her, just as the man stepped through the door behind them. Her face fell serious as she regarded him for a moment. “You’re late, Rhysand.” Her seriousness didn’t last though, and almost immediately she was grinning up at him as well, before he sloped off towards the counter, hands in pockets.

“Where have you been?!” Alis cried, a mix of concern and joy on her face. “It’s been too long since you were last here.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Feyre said, shame flooding her. It had been too long; Tamlin had kept her away for months. He had insisted she had everything she could possibly need to paint at the house, and had ignored her protests that she only wanted to browse. She hadn’t mentioned that she had wanted to see her friend as well - that would only have ended badly. In the end it had been easier to simply relent and let him have his way.

Alis seemed to sense her train of thought, and gave her a tight-lipped smile. The woman had an alarmingly accurate intuition, and seemed to know what was going on without Feyre having to tell her. Thankfully, she didn’t press any further, only gesturing upstairs. “Want a drink?” The man - Rhysand, was it? - wandered past, broom in hand, and disappeared out of the door to clean up the mess outside, flashing the women a grin as he passed them.

Feyre hesitated, sorely tempted to stop and chat, but her thoughts drifted back to Tamlin, and she only shook her head. “I can’t, sorry.” Alis only pursed her lips, clearly unimpressed, though Feyre knew it wasn’t her she was mad at.

“I left my purse here yesterday,” Feyre said to break the uncomfortable silence that followed. “I came by to pick it up.”

The storm cloud faded from Alis’ face in an instant, and she was back to her bubbly self as she headed over to the counter, disappearing behind it for a moment before appearing again, brandishing her purse. “I was wondering whose this was.”

Feyre smiled as she took it from her, releasing a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “I got distracted yesterday, and just forgot it here.” Right on cue, the door jingled behind them, and Feyre knew without looking that it was Rhysand. Alis smirked at her, eyes sliding to her shop assistant and back to Feyre again. Thankfully the woman said nothing, only raised an eyebrow in silent question. Feyre ignored her, glancing up at the clock on the wall. Tamlin would be setting off back home from Hybern any minute. “I have to go,” she said quietly, stowing her purse away and shuffling awkwardly. Alis knew something was up, and Feyre couldn’t decide if she was grateful for her not questioning it, or if she wanted to tell her friend everything. “I’ll text you,” she settled on eventually, giving the shorter woman a tight hug. “We need a proper catch-up.”

“That we do,” Alis said, her voice dripping with unhappiness at the situation. She met Feyre’s gaze, and narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly. “Stay safe, Feyre. I’m a phonecall away if you need me.”

Feyre only nodded, turning away with a sad smile and heading for the door. Just as she reached to open it, Rhysand appeared beside her, forcing a steaming cup into her hands before she could object. “To keep you warm on the way home,” he murmured quietly, reaching around her to grab the door and open it for, sweeping into a mock-bow in front of her. The steam wafted up to tickle Feyre's nose: ginger and peppermint again. She couldn’t help but smile at him, and he grinned back as she stepped past him and out onto the street again. The sun had emerged from its hiding place, and already the ice was losing its grip on Prythian; everything sparkled and glimmered with rainbows in the bright sunlight. Thankfully, her walk home would be decidedly less treacherous than the one in.

She glanced back to Rhysand again, and caught him watching her with what she could only describe as awe. It was gone an instant later, though, and he was back to his grinning self. She gave him a small wave, and set off back up the road. Back in the shop, Rhysand watched her through the window, ensuring that she didn’t slip and fall again, until she rounded the corner and was gone from sight.


	4. Twisted Carousel

“Feyre? Are you here?”

Feyre sighed internally, readying herself to spend the rest of the day with a permanent smile plastered on her face. “In here,” she called to him, keeping her voice cheery and upbeat. It felt like she was in the middle of a terrible reality TV show where the family was always perfect. Tamlin wanted her to be perfect.

She heard him breeze into the room, and forced herself to stay relaxed as he slid his arms around her neck and pulled her tight to him, nuzzling into her turtleneck. “I missed you,” he mumbled against her, but Feyre simply placed a hand on his arm, leaning back into him. He noticed her silence, but thankfully didn’t press it further; he only stood up and sighed, shrugging off his jacket and slinging it over the back of the sofa.

“What have you been up to, then?” Tamlin asked, his green eyes flicking to meet hers for a second before she looked away, her eyes alighting on the takeout cup that was still on the coffee table in front her.

“I went to Nightingale’s,” she said simply, gesturing at the cup that he had undoubtedly noticed the instant he walked in the room. The entire flat was minimalistic and sleek; the brow corrugated cardboard of the cup had no place here. “To catch up with Alis.” 

Tamlin sucked in a breath through his teeth, and Feyre braced herself for him to snap at her, to chastise her for going back to the shop when she didn’t need anything from there, but nothing came. She dared a glance up at him, and found him watching her with a conflicted expression. He was the one to look away first, though, and acted as if nothing had happened, rolling up his sleeves as he wandered over to the window, glancing out onto the street.

“Do you want to go out to lunch?” He asked, flashing her the charing smile that had made her fall for him in the first place. Feyre hardly had to force herself to nod, and smiled back at him, though the expression immediately became more forced when Tamlin’s gaze dropped to her clothes. Subtlety had never been his strong point.

Sighing sharply, Feyre stood and headed for her closet, already resenting the layers of chiffon and lace she would undoubtedly spend the next few hours in.

\------

When she emerged a few minutes feeling not dissimilar to a fake daffodil, she found Tamlin sat where she had been, staring down at the takeout cup held in his hands. She started towards him, then noticed a black smudge on the side of the cup -- no, not a smudge. Writing. A number. 

Rhys’ number.

“Tam, I--” she started, then faltered, not even knowing what to say. “It’s not what you think-- I slipped on the ice outside the shop and he helped me. I barely--”

“So now you’re throwing yourself at other men?” His voice was a guttural growl, and the cup crumpled in his fist. He hurled it across the room as he stood, turning to face her with rage and pain in his eyes. “Why did you go there?” He spat out the final word, as though he couldn’t even bring himself to name the shop. “I thought I told you to stay here.”

Feyre stood proud, determined to stand her ground for once. “To catch up with Alis - I haven’t seen her in weeks. Nothing more.”

Tamlin glared at her, hands fisting and unfisting at his sides. Feyre didn’t want to think about why they were fisted in the first place. After a few tense seconds, he exhaled, visibly sagging, and he ran a hand through his blond hair before looking at her, all anger gone from his face. Feyre didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, suddenly in front of her and enveloping her into a crushing hug. He clung to her like he was a drowning, burying his face into the crook of her neck and sighing shakily. Feyre froze, only finally lifting a hand to stroke his back soothingly when it was clear he wasn’t letting go any time soon.

“I can’t stay in the house all day, Tam,” she said into his hair, choosing her words carefully. He tensed, his arms tightening perceptibly around him, but she pushed forwards anyway. She had to say something. “I can’t just sit and wait for you to come back from work - I have other friends, other hobbies, other _stuff_ outside of us. I love you, but I’m more than just our relationship.” She could hardly breathe as she waited for his response.

It never came, though. Tamlin simply released her, stepping away from her and returning to the window, staring out at nothing.

Feyre hovered for a moment before retreating to their bedroom. What else could she do? There was nothing to be done when Tamlin entered one of his moods; Feyre sometimes wondered if he did it simply to make her feel bad. It worked. Every damn time.

Fighting back tears of frustration, she sagged down onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. Eventually she wound up on her back, staring up at the ceiling as her thoughts spiralled in circles like some kind of twisted carousel. No matter how much she tried to dismiss the thought, her mind kept drifting back to the crumpled cup lying in a corner of the lounge, Rhys’ number scrawled on the side.


	5. An Unexpected Meeting

It was a week before Tamlin left Feyre alone again. The issue with the note on the cup had made him tighten the leash he held her on, and he’d insisted on either working from home, or bringing her to the office when he couldn’t avoid going in, her tagging along behind him like a nervous dog. 

Like she was his pet.

She tried to ignore the glances Tamlin’s staff obviously sent her way; half the women glared at her, as if she had ruined their chances of reducing their boss, while the others just watched her with pity in their eyes. One woman in particular had brought her tea every time Tamlin left her waiting outside meeting rooms, patting her hand with sorrow in her eyes. 

The men were worse, though.

They leered at her, not disguising the fact that they were paying particular attention to _certain_ parts of her. Tamlin, to his credit, at least noticed them, and sent them scurrying away with a growl, but it was only because he didn’t want to share her, not to protect her dignity. He didn’t watch too closely though, and whenever he wasn’t looking at her, many others pairs of eyes certainly were.

Her only reprieve from Tamlin’s relentless company came in the form of Lucien. Whenever Tamlin couldn’t avoid long meetings, he left his red-haired second-in-command in his stead. She could talk with Lucien, laugh with him, relax with him - at least a little. Even if he only talked to her because Tamlin told him to, it was a relief to have someone that Feyre felt she could talk to, without worrying about what Tamlin might think, or say, or do. She still had to be mindful of what she said to Lucien - he was still on Tamlin’s payroll, after all - but it was nice to have him around.

Today, though, Tamlin had been called away for a few days, to Tokyo, and Lucien had gone with him. Feyre had point-blank refused to go as well - she had no interest in spending days cooped up in hotel rooms while Tamlin attended meetings. With no-one else that he trusted enough to guard her - because that was what Lucien was doing, guarding her - he had begrudgingly left her alone, a silent warning hanging in the air as he locked the door behind him.

As soon as Tamlin’s plane had taken off, Feyre had flung herself out of the house, relishing her freedom, however short-lived it might be. She’d spent the morning in the city centre, browsing every shop she liked the look of and buying anything that took her fancy, flashing Tamlin’s card at every turn. He wouldn’t begrudge her buying herself new things - as long as it was high-end and not the cheap, thrifty things that she had surrounded herself with before meeting him, he didn’t care what she spent money on. Providing it wasn’t art materials from a certain shop downtown.

She dispelled all thoughts of Nightingale’s as soon as they entered her head. As brave as she felt spending Tamlin’s money, she wouldn’t push him that far. Cauldron knows what he’d do if she went back there. What he might do to her.

Feyre shuddered, tucking herself deeper into her scarf against the chill of the wind. Determined that her dark thoughts wouldn’t ruin her first day of freedom, she turned on her heel, instead heading for Crooked & Lamb, a tea-shop she knew and loved.

Or she would have done, if her sudden about-turn hadn’t sent her thudding into someone. A familiar someone.

“Feyre,” Rhysand purred at her, huffing out a laugh as he stepped backwards, catching her by the elbows so she didn’t stumble forwards. “Seems we keep running into each other.”

Feyre only blinked up at him, lost for words. He smirked at her, tilting his head in confusion at her silence.

“Everything okay, darling?” He asked quietly, his brows furrowing slightly, concern flashing over his features again. 

Feyre nodded, standing straighter and adjusting her bags, even daring a small smile in his direction. “Nice to see you again, Rhysand.”

“Rhysand? You wound me,” he said, raising a hand to his chest in mock-offence. He flashed a smile at her. “Please, call me Rhys.”

Feyre couldn’t help but blanch at the gesture of friendliness, her mind flitting to what Tamlin might do if he knew she was talking to a man as breathtaking as Rhys. She straightened her spine against the shudder that followed, nodding again at the man in front of her. “Rhys it is,” she said eventually, her voice quieter than she would’ve liked.

Rhys grinned at her, his hands sliding into his pockets again. “What brings you into Prythian on such a fine day?” He asked jovially, glancing down at her bags with further questions in his eyes.

“I--” Feyre stopped herself, deciding that she didn’t particularly want to mention Tamlin, least of all because it would only sour her mood even further. “I had a free day, so I thought I’d come shopping.” She smiled to herself at the somewhat macabre double-meaning of her words, though thankfully Rhys either didn’t see it or didn’t mention it.

“And what are your plans now?” He asked, those violet eyes still gazing deep into her own. She flushed, hiding the blush that was creeping up her neck by tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I was going to get a cup of tea, actually,” she said, gesturing to the tea-shop whose sign she could just see at the corner of the next street. Rhys followed her gaze and smiled.

“Crooked & Lamb,” he said with a chuckle. “Good choice.” He grinned suddenly. “Ginger and peppermint, or something different this time?” Cauldron damn her, did he just _wink_ at her?

Feyre narrowed her eyes at him, huffing out a breath in mild annoyance at his flirting. A sudden boldness seized her, though, and she found herself straightening and meeting those twinkling eyes. “Why don’t you come with me, and find out?” Her face flushed red, but she held his gaze, stubbornness making her fight through the embarrassment.

Even Rhys seemed surprised at her, raising a perfect eyebrow at her challenge. He caught himself quickly, though, and stood straight, smiling at her without restraint. “I’d love to.”

In one smooth movement, he was beside her, seizing her shopping bags from her and cradling her hand into the crook of his extended elbow. He grinned down at her, and Feyre couldn’t help but give him a small smile back, noting with surprise the pink flushing into his cheeks. It only made him look more handsome.

He was back to his calm, collected self in an instant, though, and simply gestured towards the coffee shop, that insufferably gorgeous smirk on his face. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving so long between updates! Finally glad to have this up, though - was in a bit of a writing rut before I got this down, but I feel much better having it down on 'paper', so to speak.
> 
> Crooked & Lamb is a reference in and of itself, if anyone guessed it! Cerridwen has it's roots in "crooked woman", and Nuala might have its roots in Úna, or "lamb"! No prizes for guessing who runs the tea shop ;)


	6. To Tea or not to Tea

Conversation flowed easily between Rhys and Feyre as they sat in the coffee shop, and they lost track of the time they spent there drinking tea and chatting. Just… chatting. It had been a while since Feyre had last felt able to just chat. Yet here she was, sat across the table from a truly _remarkable_ man whose easy smile and kind eyes had her talking more freely than she had in months. Between them, strainers full of spent tea leaves were the only proof that they had been sat there for hours.

“Wait,” Rhys said, leaning forwards in disbelief. “You’ve never been to the National Gallery? You love to do art, but you’ve never been?”

Feyre laughed nervously, swirling the tea in her cup - camomile - for a moment before taking a sip, trying to piece together an answer that wouldn’t give too much away. “I’ve never had chance,” she said quietly. “When my family had enough money to go on trips, I was too young to be interested in galleries and museums. And now I don’t have the money to go, or the time.” She drifted into silence, pondering her half-truth. She hadn’t quite been able to add _‘and my boyfriend would never let me,’_ but her heart sank as if she had.

Rhys just watched her, a sympathetic look on his face as he took a sip of his drink. It was the same strange look of pity he had given her back in Nightingale’s, but it was gone by the time he placed the mug back down on the table. “Let me take you,” he said quietly, his deep blue eyes not wavering from hers.

Feyre blinked at him, too stunned to respond, and Rhys seemed to realise he had taken her off-guard, quickly straightening in his chair and opening his mouth to speak at the same moment that a quiet voice, smooth like smoke, broke the awkward silence.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Rhys and Feyre looked up to see Cerys - one of the twins who owned the cafe - smiling apologetically down at them. “But we’re about to close up...” 

“Not at all - sorry for keeping you.” Rhys said smoothly, smiling up at the woman. Thankfuly for Cerys’ interruption, Feyre glanced around and was surprised to find the shop around them empty of customers, and a glance up at the clock confirmed that hours had passed. Outside, the streets were emptying; the sun already setting. 

Cerys merely smiled again, placing the receipt she had been fiddling with on the table between them. She smiled shyly at Rhys then moved away to clean a table, humming a quiet tune to herself. Neither Feyre nor Rhys moved to fill the void in conversation, and silence drifted between them again, quickly turning awkward as they both remembered Rhys’ sudden proposition.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Feyre murmured, standing suddenly enough to make her chair teeter on two legs for an instant. Rhys mirrored her movement on instinct, half-standing before realising it only added to the awkwardness and thudding back down into his chair again. He nodded tightly, looking at everything but her.

 _He’s embarrassed,_ Feyre realised as she weaved between the tables, heading for the bathroom. Her heart stammered in her chest as she remembered what he had offered, but she forced the sensation down; by the Cauldron, she had a boyfriend - not that he had ever offered to take her to the National Gallery. She sighed in frustration.

* * *

By the time Feyre returned to the main shop, their table was swept clear and Rhys was leaning on the front counter, chatting amicably with the twins. Pulling out her purse, Feyre moved to stand beside him, digging around for Tamlin’s card - Cauldron knew she didn’t have enough money in her own account to spend it all on tea.

“No need,” Rhys said with a soft smile as he took his card back from Nuala. He had paid. “My treat.”

Feyre was about to object, but the lingering embarrassment on her face was enough to make her not press the issue - he was humiliated enough; he didn’t need her haggling with him over the bill. Instead she simply smiled up at him. “I’ll get next time, then.”

Rhys seemed surprised at her suggestion, but recovered quickly, his trademark smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Deal.”

Nuala interrupted their flirting by placing a small paper bag onto the counter in front of Rhys, smiling nervously between them. “Tea,” she said simply. “For our favourite customer.” She glanced up at him, his cheeks reddening reddened at the title. All three women smiled at his reaction - it was insufferably cute.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking the bag and slipping it into one of the bags at his feet, before picking them up and smiling at Feyre once again. “Lead the way, darling.”

Trying to ignore the way her heart fluttered like a butterfly at the pet-name, Feyre thanked the twins again, then left the shop, pulling her coat tighter around herself in the chill evening air. Her breath fogged in front of her face as she sighed contentedly, and she stretched, her joints stiff after so long spent stood up. Rhys stood beside her, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Favourite customer, eh?” She asked him, giggling at the embarrassment immediately visible on his face.

“Oh, Gods, don’t,” he groaned, running a hand down his face in exasperation, though it was obvious he wasn’t truly offended. He sighed. “I spend a lot of time in there,” he said with a small smile, falling into step beside her as they headed back towards the main city square. “Sometimes, if they get new tea in, they’ll give me some to see what I think.”

Feyre could only chuckle. Of course he was a tea fanatic, just like her. She sent a silent curse up towards the darkening sky; the Gods were clearly just toying with her now.

“I love this time of day,” Rhys murmured quietly. He had obviously been watching her, for his gaze had turned skywards as well. The bright blue of earlier had faded to a dusky deep blue-purple that faded to pink towards the horizon, where the sun was still just visible over the city-centre buildings. Above their heads, the faint specks of stars were barely-visible, glittering down at them.

“Me too,” Feyre said with a sigh, the artist in her wondering how she might combine colours to capture the peachy hue of the horizon, or how she’d capture the glimmer the fading sunlight cast on Rhys’ face, or how the tattoos she had seen peeking out under his collar would look in starlight-- she cut the thoughts off there, before they got dangerous. she reminded herself, staring at the pavement beneath her feet instead.

“Feyre?” 

“Huh-- what?” Feyre’s head bolted up to look at him again, and the sight of the sunset reflected into his eyes almost had her heart crying out in delight. When his eyes creased in a broad smile she was almost certain it did. 

“I asked what your plans were now,” he chuckled, glancing at his watch. “We could grab a movie if you wanted? Dinner? Or feel free to drop me on my ass if you’d rather - though I seem to remember you suggesting there’d be a next time…” He winked at her.

Now it was Feyre’s turn to be embarrassed, and she narrowed her eyes at him, which only made his smile broaden. “Prick,” she muttered.

“Is that a yes to another date, then?”

_Date._

The word clanged through her consciousness like a brick down a metal pipe, and Feyre suddenly realised what she had been doing. She had a long-term boyfriend, yet had spent the past few hours with one of the nicest men she’d ever met, leading him on like a bitchy teenager. She recoiled from her own behaviour, but still couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. Instead she said the first thing that came to her mind.

“I have the house to myself tonight, if you want to come over…” Even she wasn’t sure what she was suggesting, but given the look on Rhys’ face, he knew _exactly_ what he was planning. A spark of warmth ignited in her core, taking her by surprise, and her face flushed red in response.

Rhys simply extended his arm, and she took it gratefully, smiling bashfully up at him. He grinned in response, those beautiful eyes flashing with something that had the warmth in her core intensifying. His arm tightened around hers for an instant, before he gestured for her to start walking. “Lead the way, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY for taking so long to update this! Life is insane, and University is steadily sapping any energy I have.


	7. Stars Colliding

Feyre had managed to convince Tamlin to let her keep her tiny studio apartment after she moved in with him, arguing that it would be a good way to keep her paints away from the expensive furniture. Tamlin had been unconvinced at first, but a few “accidental” droplets of paint splattered onto his white leather sofa had quickly changed his mind. It remained her biggest act of defiance against him, but she was grateful every day that she still had a place that was simply _hers_ , away from him and his influence.

The studio had been advertised in shop windows, the images blurry at the handwriting barely legible, but Feyre had been so desperate to find somewhere within her price range that she’d taken it without even viewing the place. The landlady - Suri, a truly _ancient_ woman who had no idea of how to maintain a property - had been incredibly generous, and had helped her fix it up as best she could. True, the skylight leaked during particularly heavy rainfalls, and she had to keep all her food in sealed boxes so that the mice couldn’t get to it, but it was hers. She’d made it hers.

Nowadays she only got to her studio once a week, if she was lucky, and it wasn’t simply because she had no muse - Tamlin thought up excuse after excuse to keep her away, and any protests she gave fell on deaf ears. But with Tamlin away for a few days, there was nothing keeping Feyre from spending as much time as she wanted at the studio. Doing whatever she wanted, without the fear of Tamlin interrupting. 

So why did it feel like her heart was about to beat out of her chest?

She glanced at Rhys as she dug around in her bag for her keys, and paused to take in what she saw. He was staring out of the stairwell window outside her apartment, his face lit only by the bare bulb that dangled above their heads. Anyone else in his position would have looked washed out, unhealthy, but he looked… ethereal.

“See something you like, darling?” 

His voice jerked Feyre out of her admiration, and she shot him a glare before turning back to the door, hoping her hair would hide the blush now spreading across her freckled cheeks. Rhys only chuckled as he moved to stand beside her, and Feyre had to stop herself from leaning into his warmth as she unlocked the door and opened it for them.

She felt herself relax the instant she stepped through the door, the stresses of recent days fading into memory as she took in the tiny space and shrugged off her shoes and coat. The studio was just that - tiny - but it was perfect. It was home.

Rhys dropped her bags on the bed, then moved around the apartment, his violet eyes taking in everything about the space - the bare brick walls, the art covering every available surface, the sink splattered with paint, the half-finished paintings scattered about. “It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, looking upwards towards the skylight, and the stars visible through it. Feyre couldn’t help but smile with pride at his compliment, following his gaze up towards the stars as she leaned back against the back of the sofa, tugging her hair out of its bun and combing through it with her fingers as she picked out the few constellations she knew by heart.

She was suddenly aware that Rhys had moved closer, and lowered her eyes to find him stood in front of her. He reached to toy with a strand of her hair that had caught behind her ear, and gently tugged it free, something unfathomable in his eyes as his gaze slid to meet hers. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, and Feyre was sure that time stopped, just for a moment.

His hand slipped from her hair to cradle her cheek, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes against the warmth, leaning into his touch. He exhaled, his breath shaky, as though he were nervous, and Feyre instinctively placed a hand over his, her thumb rubbing comfortingly against his skin. She felt him move closer, felt his shirt brush against her dress, and automatically reached for the material, fingering it gently as her eyes flickered open to find his violet eyes only inches away from hers, watching her carefully, checking that she was okay.

It wasn’t clear who moved first, but in the next moment their lips met. It was a gentle kiss, merely to test the waters, but to Feyre, it felt like stars were colliding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOP.


End file.
